


Unethical

by Transformers0



Series: Salvaging Badly Written Shows and/or Movies [1]
Category: Disney Duck Universe, DuckTales (Cartoon 2017)
Genre: Adopted Children, Aftermath of Torture, Aftermath of Violence, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Best Friends, Blood and Gore, Blood and Injury, Blood and Torture, Blood and Violence, Brotherly Love, Brothers, Canonical Child Abuse, Child Abuse, Childhood Romance, Children, Crime Fighting, Crime Scenes, Crimes & Criminals, Cross-Posted on FanFiction.Net, Dysfunctional Family, F/M, Family, Family Bonding, Family Drama, Family Issues, Family Secrets, Friends to Lovers, Gang Violence, Gen, Harm to Children, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Injury, Injury Recovery, Love, Magic, Magic-Users, Major Character Injury, Organized Crime, Past Child Abuse, Romantic Friendship, Sisters, Torture, Violence, Young Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-25
Updated: 2019-10-25
Packaged: 2021-01-02 22:10:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 15,598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21168686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Transformers0/pseuds/Transformers0
Summary: The Beagle Boys attack the Duck children one day, and everything goes wrong.Cross-posted from FF.net.NOTE: This story was written during the first hiatus of Season 1, back after the Mt. Neverrest episode had aired, and there were no new episodes for a long while.As such, this story is severely AU, and does not coincide with the rest of Season 1 and onwards.





	1. Canine Cruelty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The triplets and Webby are ambushed while out on another fun day of exploring.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before we begin, this author's note is just a reminder that this story was conceived during the hiatus between the first half of Season 1 and its second half.
> 
> So as such, all plot points past "The Impossible Summit of Mt. Neverrest!" are to be ignored.
> 
> This story works with the early assumption that the Spear of Selene was actually a weapon, and that Della actually sacrificed her life to protect her family, amongst other early fan theories.
> 
> Anyway, with that info clarified, let's begin.

**Unethical**

**Canine Cruelty**

The Beagle Boys were dogs, in every sense of the word.

A dog, at their very best, could be a very loyal and loving friend.

Or they could be a savage and cruel beast. A serial hitman and a killer. Every guardian's worst fear. Every child's worst nightmare.

* * *

It was supposed to be a relaxing afternoon paddling their rowboat on the river. Then it all went to hell when some Beagle Boys on the riverbank spotted them.

Downstream, the kids found themselves heading towards a blockade of sailboats on the river, courtesy of Duckburg's infamous street gang.

Huey steered hard to port immediately. As the ducklings leapt from the boat and started running, the sand grinding under their feet, a boomerang thwacked Louie on the back of the head.

"Louie!" Dewey screamed, bending down to check his little brother over.

"You have to stay awake," Huey urged as he helped Louie to his feet.

Louie stumbled before letting out a rattly "I'm fine."

"You don't sound like you are," Huey rebuffed. Dewey, picking up a nearby broken branch, spoke up next, "Webby and I can buy you some time. Get Louie out of here!"

"I don't like it, but we have no choice," Huey sighed, "You be right behind us!"

"As soon as you get a big head start!" Webby replied and spun around, just in time to see two Beagle Boys, armed with mallets, burst from the nearby bushes.

Grabbing Louie by the hand, Huey bolted.

Webby took a running leap and tumbled between the legs of the bigger canine. Dewey swung his stick, which connected with the mallet of the shorter beagle.

"Come here, ya little brat!" yelled the large thug as he brought down his mighty hammer upon Webby, who managed to backflip away to safety. Using the momentum of her flip, Webby jumped back and rotated herself again, so that her feet were parallel to a tree trunk. Using the tree as leverage, Webby sprang off and landed on the upturned face of the mallet's head. Hopping up, Webby delivered a roundhouse kick to the beagle's face, followed up by an uppercut to the tenders.

The big beagle whined in agony as he collapsed in a heap. Meanwhile, Dewey brought his stick up to parry another blow. Unfortunately, the mallet strikes had worn down the branch's strength, and this time the smaller beagle's mallet broke the duckling's stick in half.

"Didn't see that coming," Dewey gulped, and braced himself as the remaining beagle lifted up his hammer for the final blow.

"Hi-yah!"

But a flying kick from Webby put a stop to that.

The two children surveyed their handiwork.

"Okay, the two savages are taken care of," Dewey stated, "Now let's go catch up with Huey and Louie!"

The two kids turned their tails and fled.

* * *

"How bad is it?" Louie ground out his question as he and Huey staggered out of the forest on the eastern side of Duckburg.

"It's bleeding, but only a little," the red eldest triplet reported, before asking, "Does your satellite phone still have battery?"

Louie scrummaged a hand through his pockets before pulling out his target. He checked the screen. "Yep. A lot of a battery."

"Good," said Huey, taking it and dialling Launchpad's number.

"Come on, Launchpad… pick up."

Huey's prayers were answered a few seconds later.

"Oh, hello, Master Huey, what would you like me to do for you?"

"Launchpad, thank goodness. We need a helicopter ride from the lighthouse. How fast can you make it there?"

"Oh, well, I should be able to make it there in 5 minutes."

"Without crashing?"

"Er, 7 minutes."

"We'll take it. See you there," Huey breathed as he pressed the 'end call' button.

"Gee, you really channelled Great-Uncle Scrooge there, giving out instructions over the phone," Louie lightened the mood with his ever-smooth banter, as he leant on his eldest brother for support.

"Remind me to thank him later," Huey retorted with a smirk as he continued helping Louie along.

* * *

Webby and Dewey tore through the forest foliage. Adrenaline fuelled their desperate sprinting, and primal fear blocked out most of the aches their little bodies managed to accumulate. Thorny bushes scratched their plumages, and their feet were bruised and bleeding.

Finally, they stumbled out of the forest and into the Industrial District. The two ducklings continued their footrace down the sidewalks. Dewey's phone buzzed in his pocket. He checked the screen, which said 'Huey'.

"Hello?" he rasped as he opened the call while sustaining his jogging.

"Dewey, thank goodness, meet us at the Lighthouse. Launchpad has got our ride," Huey instructed via cellphone audio.

"Got it," Dewey responded, but suddenly shrieked as a baseball bat entered his peripheral vision.

Webby watched in horror as Dewey was sent flying through the air, screaming his 10-year-old lungs out, and landed headfirst in an open garbage can.

Before she could run over to check on him, four Beagle Boys stepped out from the bushes and the alleys. Webby sighed and braced herself.

In a moment, she was running, running for the nearest Beagle Boy. Her opponent was bounding towards her as well, but at the last second, Webby leaped high and swung around a lamp pole as he lunged at her. She completed her swing by kicking him in the head.

That, along with his missed tackling lunge, ended with him faceplanting onto a sewer grill, knocking him out cold.

Webby used the speed from her leap to carry her into a forward roll into the legs of the next Beagle Boy, who tripped and fell. Webby chopped a fist at his head to make sure the job was finished.

Pulling out her grappling gun, Webby turned and fired, tangling the legs of the third Beagle Boy. With a great tug, she sent him sprawling onto his back.

Finally, the fourth Beagle Boy. And this time he had a knife on him. But her Granny's training wouldn't be wasted here.

The knife guy lunged at her and swung. She leaped back, just missing the blade by millimetres. She landed on her feet and slid out a leg for a sweep manoeuvre.

To her great shock, the Beagle Boy dropped low and caught her leg with his free hand. Then he lashed out with his own leg. His kick caught her squarely in the temple and she was launched into a shrieking tumble.

Despite a wave of grogginess that was beginning to cloud up her mind, Webby forced herself to her feet. The lunatic with a knife was lunging again. Too quick this time.

Webby let herself go limp and fell on her back. The knife slashed the area where she had been not just a second ago. Quickly summoning strength in her arms, Webby levered her prone body into a position where she could kick both her feet into the gut of the knife guy.

He dropped to his knees, winded from her strike. Webby seized the opening, yanking on his right ear, cocking her left fist back and launching it forward, delivering a finishing blow that the Beagle Boy would still be feeling the next morning.

Webby let out a ragged gasp as she sank to her knees. At the very least, she hadn't gotten any more scrapes. All but a very few of her scratches could be traced back to her and Dewey's frantic dash through the forest.

Her heart stopped as a shadow swallowed her up. She looked around for the shadow's source. Her eyes settled on a tall and broad Beagle Boy standing on the edge of the building on the other side of the street. He let out a howl, which was responded to by a plethora of many more howls, each of them ominously menacing in tone.

_"Of course,"_ thought Webby despairingly, _"We just had to end up in the sketchiest neighbourhood."_

She searched her skirt pockets for something… yes, a $10 note.

Webby grimaced as she stuffed the note in her beak, letting her tongue slide around and salivate it.

She ran over to the trash can where Dewey still lay inside. Blood was slowly oozing from his nostrils, but other than that, he looked fine. Webby groaned in regret.

She had to make this look convincing.

Her tongue pushing the crumpled and saliva-covered $10 note to the edge of her beak, Webby spat into the bin. The money landed square on the center of Dewey's shirt. She hoped he would notice it and use it with common sense to catch a ride home.

Taking the lid on the side of the garbage can, Webby also hoped that the Beagle Boys wouldn't be smart enough to check inside the bin for a second duckling.

Then, her heart racing, she raced away.

To her increasing panic, Webby didn't see or hear any cars nearby, and the buildings on the other side of the road all looked rotten and dilapidated. No other members of the public were nearby, it seemed. She was truly alone now.

That was both good and bad. Bad in the sense that no one could help her against an incoming horde of street criminals. Good, or at the very least bittersweet, in the sense that members of the public would likely only end up as casualties if they were to get involved in the fight that was about to happen.

Webby spared a quick glance at her left as she continued running. Heading back into the forest was an option, but a risky one at that – and she'd definitely be cutting herself off from all other options if she chose to take the chase through there.

And besides, if her pursuers did manage to catch up with her, it wasn't likely that anyone would find her remains in the forest…

_Wrong thought, Webby! WRONG THOUGHT!_

Caught up in the possible horrible outcomes of her predicament, Webby almost didn't notice the stilt-clown beagle lumbering directly in front of her. She somersaulted out of the way, and wielded the trash can lid that she still held in her hands like a frisbee.

The flying lid managed to knock out the stilt-clown and another Tumblebum. Webby spun around and, horror of horrors, it seemed that the entire Beagle Gang (minus Ma Beagle and the Ugly Failures) were on her tail.

She was too late to notice Backfield Beagle thundering at her from her left, and his outstretched arm shoved her against lamp pole.

Pain exploded through her mind, and she barely managed to dodge a blurry fist, crying out as she rolled away.

The skateboard-riding beagle, one of the Longboard Taquitos, suddenly sped by, seizing her hair and dragging her up and along for a frightening ride.

Webby screamed, but was cut off as a thick fist smashed into her side, abruptly stopping her body's momentum. Webby felt another big hand envelope her, and time slowed as her world tumbled. Her blurry vision started to grey at the edges as time resumed at its normal speed and she found herself being slammed on her back against the asphalt road.

A booted foot caught the side of her forehead, and as her grey vision smoked towards inky, unfeeling blackness, Webby felt furry hands shoving her small body into a sack.


	2. Snuff

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The children are all separated from each other. Huey and Louie manage to link up with Launchpad, while Dewey regains consciousness and struggles to get back home by himself.
> 
> However, Webby finds herself in a very life-threatening situation.

**Snuff**

Drops of water hitting and trickling down his beak brought Dewey back to the waking world.

The duckling moaned in a pitiful whine at first, before squealing in surprise when he found bloody water trickling down his cheeks.

That's when the rain began to fully pour. The smell of wet, gunky trash entered his nostrils and he let out a snorting groan. Pain scraped the nerves of his throat raw.

"Ow! W… Webby…?"

Images of a pink-skirted duckling brawling several grown dogs started flashing one by one in his mind. Although his memory was still vague of what had just recently happened, Dewey started struggling from his stuck position inside the garbage can, calling out for his best friend in increasing panic that threatened to drown him mentally.

"Webby! Webby?!"

Dewey started yelling and kicking. After several tries he brought the trash can crashing down on its side.

"Augh…!" Dewey moaned as he wiggled his little body free from the bin.

_"Need to get home…" _he thought laggardly, his mind still fragmented.

His eyes eventually caught sight of the $10 bill that laid in front of him.

"Who would throw away a perfectly good wad of cash?" the boy muttered as he reached out a hand to grab it. As soon as he touched the money, however, he recoiled.

"That's slimy! Eugh!"

The feeling of blood trickling inside his bill, which had just now become apparent thanks to a taste of metal, made Dewey reconsider the situation.

_"It's still free money that no one wants. It's free money that you need. Use it, you moron!"_

Inwardly sighing, Dewey made to pick up the bill again.

_"Now to find a bus back to the mansion…"_

* * *

Huey and Louie raced along Hookbill Harbour, their feet slapping the wooden planks of the pier. Rain battered their faces and soaked their clothes and feathers.

To their relief, they saw Launchpad's helicopter less than a mile up ahead, though the gale that was beginning to form blocked out their greetings to the adult.

"Kids! What happened to ya?" Launchpad stammered in alarm, sounding uncharacteristically grave.

"The Beagle Boys," Huey gasped out, bending and putting his hands on his knees for support. He wasn't as energetically fit as his younger brothers, and physical action drained him the quickest.

As it turned out, Huey didn't need to gather more oxygen to say anymore words. A dark look glazed over Launchpad's face at the mere mention of the city's most dangerous street gang.

"Get in. I'm taking you two home right now," Launchpad said to the kids.

"We can't! We have to wait for Dewey and Webby!" Huey screeched out.

They were having to raise their voices now, to be heard over the souring weather.

"This situation requires more duck-power, kid," Launchpad explained with sympathy, "We'll get more help from the manor first. You should never take the Beagle Boys lightly."

"But…but…but…!" Huey pleaded, before Louie gently shook his shoulder.

"Huey," the youngest triplet spoke up, "You know Launchpad is right, and that, for once, his logic is completely sound."

Huey spared a glance back at the way he and Louie had come.

Dewey and Webby were not on their tails. They weren't even anywhere in sight.

Grim despair washed over Huey.

_"My fault. My fault. I'm the oldest child. It's all my fault."_

But Louie's words had struck a chord deep inside.

Louie and Launchpad were correct. The three of them couldn't be of much help to Dewey and Webby without backup. McDuck Manor had to be their first destination.

And they couldn't waste any more time waiting around.

"Okay. To McDuck Manor!" Huey said as he jumped on board the helicopter. After helping Louie inside, Launchpad shut the doors and took off, flying at redline speed towards the mansion.

* * *

Warmth spreading throughout her body was the first thing that brought Webby back from the overwhelming darkness.

Immediately, her feet felt heavy and her hands felt stiff, like blood wasn't circulating efficiently through her limbs. Webby tried to move, but found her body immobilized.

Instinctual panic flooded her senses and she spasmed around, desperately trying to move.

The rattle of chains rang through her ears, and her heart skipped a beat.

Slowly, Webby opened her eyes.

Glancing down, she saw that her feet had been shackled around the ankles, with heavy steel chains leading to the floor.

Turning her eyes upwards, Webby saw that her hands were shackled around the wrists, with the same type of restricting chains trailing up to the ceiling of her cell, suspending her painfully off the ground.

That's when she spotted Big Time, Burger and Bouncer out of the right corner of her vision.

Big Time let out a deep laugh that boomed throughout the cell. If her body weren't securely restrained, Webby would have shrank a little against the brick wall behind her.

"Well, little Vanderquack, it looks like street justice has finally caught up with ya," Big Time announced, stepping forward.

"Heh-heh," Webby giggled nervously, swallowing down a lump in her throat, "Street justice… so rad and cool and, uh, gloomy all at once. Am I right?"

"You've got the gloom part down alright," growled Bouncer. He jabbed out his fist.

Webby squeaked as the air was crushed from her stomach.

Burger didn't allow the child any reprieve, however. He followed up a second later after his brother with a high kick to duckling's beak. A fist chop slammed across her face moments later.

Webby gagged as the full forces of Burger's blows began to register. She could feel her right eye becoming a black shiner – it throbbed excruciatingly.

All of a sudden, she couldn't breathe again, as Big Time slammed one fist after another against her small chest. Her world flashed blindingly in epileptic colours.

However, she was brought back sharply to her senses by the alarming sensation of teeth digging into her shoulder. Webby screamed.

Burger was biting her right shoulder. He hooted ferally as his ears drank in the sounds of the little girl's screams.

His hand found her beak, and muzzled it half-shut in a suffocating grip.

The duckling's screams still came forced out as muffled, drawn-out whines as Burger bit into her abdomen several times over.

He didn't stop biting, though. But eventually his hand released her beak, and Webby freely began screaming out loud again.

_ **Heavens HELP ME! This hurts this hurts THIS HURTS SO MUCH! ARGH! AAAGH! STOP! Make it stop MAKE IT STOP PLEASE! PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE! AAAAAGH!** _

Finally, he stopped biting her. Her blurred vision came back momentarily to see the three beagles in front of her laughing – _jeering_ at her. At her bloodied little body and her agonizing pain.

She didn't hear their laughs, though. Her ears were ringing. Ringing with the sounds of her own screams. She'd gone bloody deaf through madness.

"Where's your Grandma now, brat?!" Big Time sneered. His words throbbed in her head.

No. She had not gone deaf. But she had been bloodied. Badly.

_Granny… Granny… please… please, help… help me…_

The cell door swung open and clanged on the wall. The sound made Webby flinch and whimper pathetically.

"Aw, dudes, you saved some fresh duckling for the rest of us to try, right?" asked one of the Longboard Taquitos.

"Hmm, she's all yours," Big Time grinned at his entering kin in wicked satisfaction.

"Oh yeah, I've been waitin' for this moment for forever," said another Taquito as he waltzed in with a stool leg in each hand.

Webby whimpered and tried futilely to back away as that particular beagle approached…

It didn't matter.

The wooden beam slammed full force into her legs.

The sickening crunch of tibia bones was the last thing Webby heard before her world was overwhelmed by the sounds of her screaming again.

* * *

Dewey slumped in his seat just as the bus jarringly accelerated from a standstill.

_Geez Louise, this driver's rough._

He squinted as he glanced back at the driver who had let him on, and rudely shoved a $5 dollar bill in his hand in exchange for his $10. All without saying a word.

Really, he was cold, wet, and soaked with rainwater mixed with his own blood, and that darn adult of a driver had nothing to say. _Nothing?_

Dewey then noticed that the driver of the bus had been the same one that had kicked him, his brothers and Webby off on that first day that Webby had journeyed outside the mansion's grounds with them.

_Oh Webby, where are you?_

_And… what happened to me?_

* * *

Webby coughed out tears, blood and mucus from her beak.

Her body was now covered in a multitude of lacerations. Her legs had been snapped and cracked.

As she hung against the wall, suspended off the ground, and bleeding out profusely, the poor child only found the energy to moan.

"Stop… please…"

"Under normal circumstances, we would," replied Big Time, "But you see, we owe our Ma a birthday gift, after you and your tall new friend ruined her last one. And guess what, sweetie-pie? You are our belated gift to her. We just need to put the finishing touches on ya."

Webby heard the tell-tale sparks of electricity crackling to life. She craned up her sore neck, forcing her gaze to be at eye-level with these dogs.

These horrible adult dogs who took primal, savage pleasure in abusing a child.

And that's when she spotted Broadway Beagle looming closer and closer to her, a jump starter in his hands.

"No…" Webby rasped out, blood gurgling in her mouth, "No! Please! Don't!"

"Now, now," mocked Broadway as he set up the jump starter, "You will not ruin my masterpiece this time, youngling."

A frightening buzz registered through Webby's ears just before Broadway jammed the sparkling jump leads against her chains.

Agony rocketed through her body.

"DAAAAUGH! NAAAAAARGH!"

The pulsing voltage subsided for a moment – just one miniscule moment – before surging through her nerves once more.

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAGH!" Webby screamed in a strangled, tormented voice.

Again.

And again.

And _again_ cruel lightning burned through her.

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAGH!"

* * *

From the cold floor of the amphitheatre, Lena jolted awake, a wave of sickening dread washing over her.

Her last few moments of her dream had been of Webby – bloodied, battered, helpless and screaming.

"What troubles you, Minima?" the voice of her aunt asked, as the cursed shadow materialized on the stone wall beside her.

"It's…" Lena hesitated, before deciding to go through with honesty, "It's Webby. She's in trouble."

"And why does that concern you?"

"Aunt Magica, Webby is…" Lena paused, slightly ashamed of admitting this information to her evil aunt, "She is my best friend. I have to help her."

"If you do that, you're helping our enemies. And _this_ time we don't get anything in return from them by doing so," Magica glowered at her niece.

"You mean _you_ don't get anything," Lena pointed out, irked, "And honestly, I can kinda understand why they wouldn't want to concede anything to you. But for me? I get their resources, and their friendship… and…"

Lena remembered how strong Webby's love for her grandmother was, and vice versa. She remembered their bond, and she remembered Beakley extending that offer to her, unconditionally.

"And I get to be part of their family. Their supportive, caring, loving family. Not this broken one full of curses and lies and hate," Lena finished.

"Now don't you think that I'm going to let you waltz out on me so you can join them just like that!" Magica snarled.

Lena closed her eyes. But not out of fear.

"You can't stop me, Auntie. You're only a shadow. A pathetic, intangible shadow that is the only link to my wicked upbringing. A link that I can, and will, cast off."

"No-!" Magica made to protest, but was cut off as Lena turned away and started running.

The teenaged duckling had now found her new purpose.

Help her new family.

And start by saving Webby.

* * *

The searing agony and her screaming – oh heavens, _her screaming_ – went on for ages.

Webby hardly had the energy to cling onto consciousness anymore.

She just hung limply from her chains. Her eyes were simply closed, the darkness being her only relief from the constant pain. Her wrists and ankles were numb, half-dead from the lack of proper blood circulation thanks to the shackles.

Right now, every waking moment for the duckling was spent on clinging to the weakening strands of her mortality.

The cell door banged open again. Webby let out a small whine and shivered. Shivered like an abused pet.

Ma Beagle had arrived.

"My golly! Why, isn't it Bentina's little brat?" the old female dog remarked, sniffing at the juvenile duckling in an unnerving way, "I've been dying to meet you. _Especially_ after you humiliated me at that arcade and had the _gall_ to crash my birthday party!"

The alpha dog slammed her crowbar into Webby's ribs.

Webby whined distressingly again.

Ma Beagle, unfazed by the pitiful child, brought up a fist in a vicious uppercut.

Webby felt her lower mandible break and hang limply.

"Augh…"

The Beagles' matriarch still didn't relent, however, pounding fist after fist into Webby's stomach.

"Impertinent child! Back in my day, our elders would have our hides for such disrespect! It's a pity you ain't my offspring though. THIS – this is the average punishment for the most mildest of sins. But your grandmother wouldn't appreciate us sending what's left of you back in a doggy bag to her. So sadly, the lashing is as far as we can get with you today. You better be thankful."

Ma Beagle whistled, and several of her sons came in to start releasing Webby from the now bloodstained chains.

They dropped her broken body unceremoniously on the floor before they left again.

Ma Beagle loomed over the battered duckling.

"Now child, remove your clothes."

_That _gave Webby a brief surge of frantic energy to force her heavy eyelids open. She whimpered in feeble protest.

Ma Beagle's foot slammed into her face.

"What's the matter?! Too weak to listen to your elders? Too frail and puny? Or is it just defiance, huh? Darn youthful stubbornness?" Ma Beagle growled, before chuckling lowly, "No matter. I think I can coddle a baby one more time, my age be screwed."

None too gently, she hauled Webby up into the air with one hand. With the other hand – the one holding her crowbar cane – she stuck the hooked end of the crowbar under the collar of Webby's dress and yanked down hard.

Frayed, tattered, and bloodied fabric ripped in half, clean down the middle.

Webby let out a gargled scream once more – Ma Beagle had also added another long laceration down the center of her abdomen, thanks to the crowbar's hooked end cleaving the surface of her soft skin, but to the vile dog this was obviously a bonus.

Ma Beagle tossed aside her cane and dropped the bloodied, and now naked, child to the floor. She pulled out a coil of rope and a long metal pipe.

"Now it's time to let my boys know how much I appreciate their birthday gift for me – even if it is belated," Ma Beagle smiled abhorrently as she bound Webby's body to the pipe, "And I'll let them have their fun with you too."

Webby whined in newfound agony and alarm.

"Oh, don't worry. It's not _that _kind of fun. Just think of it like a mini-parade before we return you home," Ma Beagle grinned devilishly as she hoisted up the pipe that Webby was attached to and walked out of the bloodied cell.

* * *

The rain, belting down into open wounds, did nothing to lessen Webby's pain as Ma Beagle dragged her across the Beagles' Junkyard.

Leering hollers and whoops from beagles all around threatened to plunge her mental state into complete insanity. Webby almost didn't care anymore.

Insanity would be bliss compared to this.

Blood rushed painfully to her head as Ma Beagle started climbing what looked to be the tallest junk pile in the yard. It was hard to tell from her upside-down position on the pipe. Webby felt several more hard objects bang and rattle against her head mercilessly as the Beagles' matriarch continued their ascent.

Finally, they reached the top. And Ma Beagle finally righted the pipe that Webby was tied up to. Now right-side up again, Webby could see the entire Beagle Clan beneath her, on the ground level of the junkyard. Their jeering increased tenfold.

"Where's my whip?" Ma Beagle bellowed as she jammed the pole securely into the top of the pile so that it stood firmly upright.

A lanky Beagle Boy quickly made the ascent to hand his mother her prized whip.

"Ah, perfect," sighed Ma Beagle as she uncurled the leather strap. Webby squeezed her eyes shut and braced herself, whimpering.

She gasped sharply as the whip struck her neck.

A strong blast of wind pelted freezing rain against her small, naked body. Everything ached and burned and stung.

And the whipping just made it all worse.

Her bottom was the next area to be struck. And all the junkyard erupted in howling laughter.

Her beak was struck next. Her broken beak was whipped mercilessly, and she let out an anguished shriek.

More laughter. More laughter. Auditory senses suffocating from the sounds of merciless, cruel laughter.

She couldn't take it anymore.

Webby screamed and sobbed and sobbed and screamed.

Her broken, ailing body shook with wailing cries.

Salty tears mixed with blood and rain and stang her face, and she continued her crying.

Agonized screams mingled with her sobs. Her driven-to-insanity-by-humility-and-pain sobs.

_ **NO! PLEASE LET IT END! LET THIS END! PLEASE PLEASE I'LL DO ANYTHING JUST MAKE IT STOP IT HURTS! PLEASE! PLEASE AAAAARGH!** _

The whip cracked over her blackened eyes and she screamed once more.

Her pained, grievous cries overwhelming her world once more, Webby barely noticed the pole losing its grip from its perch in the junk pile.

She didn't care when she started falling – it seemed like an eternity to her.

She barely felt her body banging against dilapidated pieces of trash on her way down.

She only felt merciful, blissful, and wonderful darkness envelope all that she was as her consciousness slipped far, far, far away from the living world.


	3. Refuge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys manage to make it back to McDuck Manor.

**Refuge**

"Kids!" Scrooge yelled over the howling wind and blasting rain as Launchpad settled the helicopter onto one of the manor's landing pads. Huey helped Louie down as Launchpad turned off the engine.

"Where's your brother?" asked Scrooge, his old eyes scanning frantically for the middle triplet.

"Dewey and Webby are still out there!" Huey answered, "The Beagle Boys split us up!"

"We'll take care of Louie first, then we'll get your uncle and Beakley, then we're going back out there for a rescue mission," Scrooge declared, then he turned to his pilot, "Launchpad, call Beakley and Donald on your cellphone while I take care of my great-nephews."

"Will do, Mr McD."

* * *

"There, that'll do it," announced Scrooge as he finished wrapping Louie's forehead with bandages, "Just keep the ice pack on top of the wounded area, and you'll feel better in a few hours."

"Thanks, Uncle Scrooge," Louie mumbled, feeling very much under the weather.

"Let's get your brother onto the couch where he can lie down," Scrooge said to Huey, "Get him a blanket. I'll carry him."

With that, Scrooge gently and carefully picked up his youngest great-nephew, while Huey went to his bedroom to fetch an extra blanket.

Donald was the first to see them. "Louie!" he quacked, rushing over to place a nurturing hand on his little boy's head.

"The wee one will be fine," Scrooge said to his nephew, "It's Webby and Dewey that I'm worried about."

"Those damn Beagle Boys, when I get my hands on them I'll make sure there isn't even a bloodstain left!" Donald raged, his chest heaving.

"Sitrep?" Beakley greeted them gravely as Scrooge gently laid Louie down on the couch. Huey came with the blanket and gently covered his brother, making sure he was comfortable and warm.

"One kid is down – I'll have Launchpad stay here and guard him," replied Scrooge, his voice solemn and devoid of jauntiness, "Two more are still out there: my great-nephew and your granddaughter."

"Then we shouldn't waste any more time," stated Beakley, but before she could say anything else, Launchpad spoke up.

"Mr McD? The security cams show Dewey at the gates."

"What?! Let me see!" Scrooge yelped as his leg muscles convulsed with energy summoned by age-old paternal instincts.

Peeking at the screens, Scrooge saw another of his great-nephews, leaning heavily on the gate, not even half-conscious. The side of Dewey's head was pressed against the buzzer, and his beak was bloodied.

"Dewey…" the elderly duck breathed, voice trembling but restrained to a low whisper, "Open the gates."

* * *

Dewey stumbled several steps into the manor's ground after the gates opened, before collapsing as his knees gave way.

Luckily, his uncle was there to catch him in his arms.

"I've failed you," Donald said simply, shame and terrified shock choking his words.

"I'm still here, Uncle Donald," mumbled Dewey as he was scooped up and cradled in his uncle's arms like a newborn duckling, "You haven't failed yet."

"Lad," he heard his great-uncle's voice summoning his attention, "Once we attend to your wounds, ye and Louie are staying here while us adults go out to rescue Webbigail."

"I'm coming too," Dewey weakly protested, then realizing how pathetic he sounded.

"No, you're not," Scrooge emphatically stated as they made their way into the main living room of the manor.

There wasn't much to be said as Beakley set to bandaging up Dewey's beak. She made him lie down on the couch with a blanket next to Louie.

"You two will rest here and _not_ engage in any rigorous activity. Huey is in charge until we get back," she told them firmly.

None of the boys questioned her. They had learned in their time here at McDuck Manor that Beakley's word was final in situations like these.

"Launchpad, refuel the helicopter. Donald, pack us supplies," Scrooge said, turning to Beakley after the two other adults left to attend to their duties, "How are you holding up?"

"Steady as always, Mr McDuck. Of course I'm worried, but fear does no good when it comes to critical decision-making."

"We'll find her, I promise," the old trillionaire vowed, an outstretched hand reached up on Beakley's shoulder.

"We're all set," declared Launchpad as he and Donald walked back quickly into the lounge.

"Good," answered Scrooge. He turned to Huey, "Now you stay here and take charge of your little brothers. We'll be back soon, hopefully."

"To the roof," Launchpad directed, leading the way for the other adults.

But just as they were about to race up the stairs, something crashed through the windows.

It was small, red and white, with a dash of yellow, and along with shards of glass, came to roll to a stop by their feet.

The sight made the adults' hearts skip a beat, their blood running cold.

The battered, bloodied and naked body of Webbigail Vanderquack was a scene from one of their worst nightmares come to life.

Beakley, in particular, collapsed to her knees, her emotions numb, and her eyes unseeing. This was something she never hoped to see in her life. Not again…

Not after…

_Not after Margaret._


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Seeing her granddaughter's battered, bloodied and broken body stirs up feelings of terror in Beakley's heart, and brings up unwanted memories.

**Center of the Storm**

Seeing Webby's broken body on the floor was Hell on Earth for Beakley.

This was worse than the day she found out that her own daughter had been murdered.

* * *

_Director von Drake's voice crackled through the personal comm channels built into her desk._

_"Agent 22, I have obtained something that you might want to see."_

_Frowning in suspicion, Beakley placed down her pen and put aside her paperwork for later. Action took priority over mission reports._

_Stepping out of her quarters, Beakley started making her way to the director's office. Fellow agents cheerfully greeted her in respectful awe, as she was second only to Director von Drake in rank. She was the most elite of field agents – the best SHUSH had to offer._

_Bentina was the herald of hope in the organization's ongoing fight for justice. She was the ideal paragon. To other agents, she seemed to pull off the impossible. She was unbeatable._

_The sliding doors to the director's office whooshed open as she walked in, and then shut and locked themselves behind her._

_Bentina pursed her beak in anticipation. Locked doors during a briefing meant that whatever content that would be displayed was of the utmost secrecy. More confidential than the usual run-of-the-mill mission briefings._

_Director von Drake approached her. He seemed… tentative – which wasn't like him at all. He neared her vicinity hesitantly, as if he were afraid she would crack like glass._

_Seeing Ludwig like this should've given her the first clue._

_"Bentina…"_

_That was the second clue, the one that she finally picked up on. Ludwig never called qualified agents by their personal names unless something terribly, distressingly bad was up. Despite his brash leadership, von Drake prided himself on his professional conduct._

_"Take a look at this," he said, placing a USB stick in her larger palm._

_Unnerved, Beakley plugged the stick into the main video console._

_Just before the screen flickered to life, she heard her commanding officer's final warning._

_"It's about Agent 99 – your daughter."_

_Too little, too late._

_The bloodied face of Margaret Beakley-Vanderquack materialized on-screen._

_"If… you're watching this… Mother… I would've… already died…"_

_A mallet hammer swung into view, bashing the side of Margaret's head and cracking her beak. But she spit back blood in the face of her off-screen attacker, and laughed._

_"You're… gonna have to… do better than that…"_

_The hammer came down on her skull again, this time leaving her winded and seeing stars._

_"Agent 22. Civilian identity: Bentina Beakley," a voice said, the camera spinning around to face the subject in question._

"It can't be,"_ Beakley's mind raced, _"The dark hair in a bob cut, the long needle-pointed beak, the narrow, sneering, wicked eyes…"

_"Black Heron…" her voice finally found itself._

_"Despite what you may be thinking," the culprit spoke again, "I am not my mother, Mrs Beakley. I am Black Heron's daughter. The Red Phoenix."_

"Not much red on you,"_ Beakley thought to herself, _"Though I suppose that's why you wear that ridiculous bloody red cape."

_"You were responsible for killing my mother all those years ago, Agent 22," Phoenix continued, "And while I could've easily captured and killed you to avenge my mother, she would've wanted you to live a life of suffering until the day you died. What better way to forever wound you by killing your only offspring, and her lover."_

_Red Phoenix stretched out a hand to rotate the camera. It turned around to show the rest of the room – Margaret, bloodied, beaten, and tied down to a chair._

_And the body of Margaret's husband, Richard Vanderquack, lay sprawled on the floor, already dead. His corpse was littered with bloody slashes and a knife was sticking out of his throat._

_Beakley's eyes closed tightly with grief, fear, and apprehension. Her daughter's death was playing out right before her eyes, and hearing her last words and breaths played back on recording was hauntingly eerie, but the veteran agent couldn't break. Not yet._

_"Any last words?" Red Phoenix grinned wickedly as she yanked back on Margaret's hair._

_"Just… two things…" Margaret managed to grind out, pausing before proceeding with her last breaths, "Mother… take care of Webby… and… I love you…"_

_As soon as she had finished, a shotgun blast turned Margaret's head into blood spatter on the wall behind her._

_Bentina's only reaction was to blink._

_"Well wasn't that sweet?" droned Red's voice as the camera swivelled back to face her._

"Murderer. Coward!" _the words raced over and over in Beakley's mind, though she knew it would be pointless to scream at a recording._

_"Revenge is justice, and justice is sweet," Red continued in sickening prose, "That is all I wanted you to see and know about, Agent 22. Though a fair word of warning from my chivalrous beak – you'd better keep an eye out for this Webby of yours."_

_Red Phoenix's face leered close to the camera, until all that could be seen were her piercing crimson eyes._

_And then mercifully, the recording cut then and there._

_And not a second too soon, for Beakley's legs gave out under her and she collapsed, huddling against the console, her breathing shallow and ragged. Her heart pounded painfully in her chest and she gasped for air._

_Her arms folded against her knees and her vision blurred. If she went sightless, she wouldn't care. She felt now that she should've been born blind._

_She wished that she had the strength to rip out her throat. She wanted to scream, but lacked even the resolve to do so._

_For a long while she just sat there, huddled up on the floor, her willpower and her energy no more. Her superior kept his watchful, pitying gaze on her – though she had barely noticed him, had forgotten entirely that he was in the same room as her, and she didn't care._

_Not until the fragments of her child's last words stabbed painfully at her memory._

Take care of Webby… I love you…

_And Red Phoenix's closing regards had been a taunt. A temptation. An invitation._

_In that moment, Beakley vowed to keep her infant granddaughter close. Until the day she was ready._

_But for now…_

_"Can the location of that video be traced?" she curtly asked her superior._

_"That's damn near impossible to do," he replied, his usually warm voice now numb in its tone to her, "But our forensics and technical departments have deduced several possible locations of origin for the memory stick."_

_"Good. Give me the list of possible locations, then disavow and discharge me," her words came out icy and sharp._

_"No need for that," responded von Drake, "I will officially, albeit secretly, sanction what you plan on doing as a solo mission for yourself, known only between me and you."_

_Bentina was momentarily stumped._

_"Can… can you even do that? But what about the governments of the–"_

_"You just let me worry about the details, Agent 22," her superior firmly cut in, though his voice softened when he moved to his next sentence, "Bentina. Go and do what you must."_

_Realization flowing through her veins like adrenaline, Beakley nodded and made her way over to the office exit. Just before she passed through the doors, she cast one last glance towards her commanding officer._

_"Director von Drake," she said simply, her voice not betraying her immense gratitude, "Thank you."_

_Ludwig just nodded sadly at her as she disappeared from view._

* * *

_It had taken her several months._

_Several long months of stealth manoeuvres, trekking, hitching rides, seeking shelter in foreign civilizations, occasionally living in the wild, surviving off the land, along with a few brutal interrogations of black market dealers and mercenaries who had made the unfortunate mistake of aiding Red Phoenix at some point down the line._

_Now, her daughter's killer was facing poetic retribution._

_Red Phoenix lay bleeding out on the ground at her feet, her head lacerated in multiple places, her chest littered with slashes and cuts, and her arms and legs snapped and dislocated._

_Phoenix had been easy to break. She wasn't even half the fighter her mother had been._

_From the moment Beakley had her in her sights, she was a dead bird walking._

_Beakley just wanted to relish in her agony before putting her out of her misery._

_"Before you leave this world," the old agent snarled with contempt towards the scum that lay before her, "I just want you to know that there is a special place in Hell for the kind of people that you and your mother are. If she truly is dead by my hand, and I 100% hope that that is the case, then I hope you reunite with her and enjoy your stay in the burning flames."_

_Red Phoenix shut her eyes and screamed, trying to writhe her way out from under Beakley's boot._

_Agent 22 just cocked her pistol, aimed downwards, and fired._

* * *

Though she hadn't regretted her actions that day, and never would, Beakley had thought of those events as the twilight of her spy career.

She had taken her granddaughter under her wing afterwards, and had resigned permanently from SHUSH. Years later, she found out that, for his actions in sanctioning her revenge mission, Director von Drake had been dishonourably discharged from his leadership of SHUSH and been replaced, though she had also heard rumours that he took the punishment and the consequences with mirth in his eyes and a smile on his face.

As for her, she had heard gossip from other former agents that her records of service had been taken off the system and either locked away or destroyed.

She didn't care. She was an agent no more.

Someone else could take up the fight for peace now.

She and her family were finished.

The only things carried over from her old life into the next chapter of her story were her vast knowledge of martial arts and baby Webbigail herself.

She had made a vow that Webby would grow up safe and sound. And if that meant training her like an assassin, but yet keeping her sheltered for as long as possible, then so be it.

And for 10 long years, she had been successful in doing just that. McDuck, her old partner, bitter and withdrawn as well from his own losses of family, had no problem accepting her into his household as a maid. And there she and her granddaughter stayed.

Until one day, McDuck's nephew and grand-nephews came along into their lives. And everything changed.

Webby could now be free to interact with and open up to people her own age.

Scrooge had gained 3 more grandchildren. So had she.

And despite the early friction between her and Donald, Beakley had eventually come to see the younger duck as the son she never had.

Soon afterwards, Webby had even found a girl playmate in Lena.

In spite of some initial misgivings and distrust shared between Bentina and the young teen, Lena had come to save her life on one occasion, and so the matriarch of the household had given her own blessing that Lena could be a part of their family.

But the consequences of widening one's horizons not only included gaining friends, but making enemies of your own too.

Scrooge's old rivals had re-emerged to try and knock down the rejuvenated trillionaire, Glomgold in particular. But they could always handle them.

New rogues had come into existence too, such as that millennial tycoon Mark Beaks, but it would be a long time before they would become credible threats to the family.

But Webby had found herself an enemy in Ma Beagle, the matriarch of the deadliest criminal mafia in the world.

Even though the young duckling had defeated the queen of lawbreakers once, that shouldn't have been an indicator of the beagle mother's true skill.

But Beakley had gone senile in her old age. And she had made the mistake of assuming that Ma Beagle had done so too.

But she hadn't.

And as a result, Webby had gone to hell and back, and now lay dying in front of her family.

_I'm sorry._

_I've failed you._

_I've failed you both._


	5. Attack on Manor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With the Duck Family gathered at the manor, the Beagle Family launches a concentrated attack.

**Attack on Manor**

The thunderous crashing of glass snapped Beakley back to reality.

Scores of Beagle Boys came jumping through the gaps, leaping into swarms to rush the duck family.

Beakley, Donald, Launchpad and Scrooge responded.

"Donnie! McQuack! Fall back and protect the boys!" barked Scrooge, brandishing his cane, "We've got Webbigail!"

Donald and Launchpad nodded and took off, with no other words needing to be said.

Scrooge hovered protectively over Webby's unconscious form, swatting away any beagle foolish enough to approach the downed girl.

Beakley singlehandedly rampaged against the advancing dogs, her stocky old frame still surprisingly agile, with righteous fury enhancing her stamina. Canine skulls cracked against her fists.

If a Beagle Boy woke up in a jail hospital later, with only a bruised face and a broken limb or two, then they could call themselves one _lucky_ dog.

* * *

Donald yelled out orders as he and Launchpad raced back into the living room.

"Huey! Louie! Grab Dewey! Launchpad and I will cover you!"

The oldest triplet responded quickly, helping the youngest to his feet and slinging his left arm around the middle triplet.

Despite his aching head and spinning vision, Louie also did his best to support Dewey's weight with his right arm, and together the brothers started walking towards the safe spot in between the two adults.

The youngest triplet let out a scream, however, as the windows of the living room shattered and more Beagle Boys piled in.

Launchpad leapt into action, beefy arms shooting out like pistons, knocking beagles away and keeping the intruders at bay. His roundhouse kicks easily floored the canines, even the larger ones.

Donald, however, was beyond anyone's level. In his protective rage, he was untouchable. Unstoppable.

The hard-luck uncle, usually so reserved and withdrawn, had morphed into an angry tornado of flying limbs and enraged quacking. Those foolish enough to try and take him on were pulverized within seconds.

Even so, as spectacular as their defense was, Donald knew that they couldn't keep it up forever.

* * *

With one arm, Beakley scooped her granddaughter off the floor. Now, she and Scrooge stood back to back, an imaginary circle now laid out around them so as to better co-ordinate their counterattacks.

Scrooge was unfettered in his offense and defense. His movements were lithe and wide-sweeping. His wild, acrobatic fighting style compensated for his short height, which was of major help against the tall stature of the average Beagle Boy.

Even with one hand occupied with carrying Webby, Beakley was a fighting beast. Though the increasing numbers of the beagles meant that some strikes were starting to breach her defenses, she soaked up the blows and the pain from it only seemed to fuel the strength of her own attacks.

After defeating the initial strike teams sent to dispatch them, the two elderly ducks were relieved to see Donald and Launchpad making their way towards them, the triplets safely sandwiched between them.

"Where to now?" questioned Beakley.

"Getting up the stairs would be an unnecessary risk, even though the rooftop helipad is our best chance of escape," answered Launchpad, "So our next best bet is to get to the garage and make our getaway in the car."

"Kill the lights," said Scrooge. Donald took up that task, switching off the power wherever they went. The family fought their way to the garage, cutting down any beagles who tried to attack them from the shadows.

But before they reached the garage, Scrooge motioned for them to hold back, and they pressed themselves against the wall.

The door to the garage creaked as it swung open and two beagles, one with a torch, peered into the hallway. In the darkness, the duck family stood stone still, their breathing held, undetected.

But then the beagle with the torch looked their way.

The one not holding the torch howled out a signal as he spotted them.

"Ah crap," the adults swore collectively.

But before anyone could do anything else, a blue blur sprinted through the darkness, and with a cry of effort slammed shoulder-first against the hinged door, swinging it back into the faces of the beagles and knocking them out cold.

The immediate threat taken care of for now, Dewey slumped to the floor, his energy spent.

"Dewey!" he heard his brothers scream, just before he slipped back into unconsciousness.

Donald raced over and picked up his nephew in his arms, world-weary eyes bloodshot and brimming with angry tears.

"We need to keep moving," Beakley said urgently, taking point, "They figured we'd head for the garage. Let's try the back door."

They'd have to pass through the kitchen to gain access to that particular exit. Their options were rapidly diminishing. Their chances of survival were dropping. Time was running out.

With Beakley leading the way, the others followed close on her tail. They snuck into the kitchen as quietly as possible, and they had almost made it to the other doorway that led to the rear portion of the mansion. But just as they opened the door, loud battle cries filled the air.

"Shoot! Shoot! Shoot!" yelled Beakley, slamming the door shut. But before they could retreat back the way they came, beagles blocked that doorway too.

The other door crashed to the floor, busted off its hinges, and yet another mass of beagles peered through the entrance.

The dogs were merciful enough to give the duck family a moment to realize how utterly screwed they were.

But a voice interrupted the prelude to the potential slaughter. It seemed to echo everywhere throughout the mansion.

"Well, this family is a sore sight for potential adoptees."

A flash of pink streaked outside the kitchen window before smashing through the glass.

A moment later, a pair of green sneakers hit the tiled floor of the kitchen. They belonged to a runty girl duckling, of 13 years of age, with a streak of her hair dyed pink.

"Lena!" gasped Huey.

"Hey Red," the teen greeted. Then she turned to address the crowd of dogs standing at the doorways.

"You know, I don't appreciate my best friend being assaulted like that."

"Well, too bad, little missy," one of them stepped forward. The stout one, Big Time.

"Your best friend stopped our kidnapping scheme, and together both of you ruined our Ma's birthday," he continued, "So now it's time for payback."

"Beating a child into a coma? The child not even responsible for the idea of smashing your party? Yeah, I'll take full responsibility for that last one – but come on. That seems kinda disproportionate," Lena critiqued, "Oh, and last time I checked, kidnapping children is a big no-no."

"Enough chit-chat! Let's kill them already!" roared Bouncer, and with that the fighting recommenced.

Lena took a deep breath, and with a shout of exertion, pink rays of magic shot out from her hands in wide angles.

All of the beagles present in the room were thrown back through the entrances and slammed against the walls of the hallway. They dropped to the floor in dogpiles, unconscious.

"You guys heading up?" Lena asked the rest of the group. They nodded, though Scrooge's eyes had widened.

"I've seen those powers before, lass," he said gravely.

"Yeah, not the time for this, let's move," Lena interrupted uncomfortably, leading them out of the kitchen and back towards the staircase.

But even on the move, Scrooge continued to protest.

"Only one sorceress throughout all of history has powers like that. You're second fiddle to her, but that would only be possible through bloodlines."

"Seriously, old man…" warned Lena, but Scrooge cut her off unyieldingly.

"You're a descendant of Magica De Spell, aren't you?"

"What?" Beakley breathed sharply.

"Alright! I am!" Lena burst out, "I am her niece. Her niece that she enslaved and trained as an assassin to take her stupid petty revenge on Clan McDuck. I lived a life of misery on the streets as my Aunt tried to milk the most out of my magic abilities, and she didn't give a damn about me. I found a friend in Webby, and through her I found a pathway to a better family. And now I see them in danger. I felt Webby's pain. I came to help, and even though you may not trust me now, I'm the only chance you guys have. So are you gonna let me help or not?"

Stunned by her confession of the heart, the other ducks could only nod in stodgy agreement with her. There was a hard and solid truth to her words, after all.

* * *

"Ma Beagle to Big Time! What's your status?" the beagle matriarch radioed. She frowned when she got no reply.

"Ma Beagle to Big Time! I repeat, what is your status?"

Static.

Cursing, Ma Beagle leaped out of her family truck and grabbed her favorite crowbar.

If one wanted something done right, they'd have to do it themselves.

* * *

"I saw the helicopter on the roof, so I assumed that you guys would make a break for it. Seems like I got here in the nick of time to help out," the teenaged duckling remarked as she sent another blast of magic to knock down another team of beagles.

"At the rate you're taking the bad guys out, we probably might make it out alive without needing to abandon the mansion," Huey stated as he pulled Louie along by the hand.

"Glad I could turn the tide, then," smirked Lena as she dodged a beagle with a wrench, spinning around to kick him in the chest.

"Did your Aunt teach you to fight like that too?" asked Beakley neutrally, observing the teen's natural fighting skill. She thought she had Lena figured out. But that was another thing that she was proven wrong about today.

"Nah. Actually, Webby taught me that," Lena said, pausing to take a breather, looking sadly at her comatose best friend. Her powers were amplified by her emotions, but even so, she had never used them for such an extended period of time before, let alone in battle, and the effort was physically and mentally taxing.

"Their numbers have significantly dwindled," Huey noted, regarding the sudden lull in the fighting.

"It's quiet. Too quiet," Scrooge said in a low voice.

True enough, the front doors of the manor's main entrance flew wide, kicked open by none other than Ma Beagle herself. Lena tried to summon up another surge of magic to blast the monster who had nearly killed her friend, but only harmless sparks came out of her hands.

"Oh no," Lena groaned.

"Well, it looks like we're doing this the old-fashioned way," smirked Ma Beagle, flourishing the crowbar in her hands. Behind her, more beagles formed up, awaiting her order to storm in.

"Here, take Webby," Beakley said to Donald, slinging her granddaughter over the younger duck's other shoulder, the one that wasn't already occupied by Dewey.

"Will you be alright, Bentina?" questioned Scrooge, knowing that the group would have to split up – Beakley would take on Ma Beagle and cover their retreat, while the rest of them would have to fight their way out to another exit.

"I'll be fine. Get out of here!" answered Beakley as she began charging forwards.

"Alright, let's go! Go! Go! Go, people!" Launchpad rallied the rest of them and they moved.

Mobs of beagles thundered past the retired agent in pursuit of her family, but she couldn't let her mind drift in concern about their safety. To win – to survive – she'd have to take out the head of the snake. She'd have to bring down Ma Beagle herself.

The old hag was charging towards her, crowbar poised to swing. Beakley watched her opponent's footing, anticipating the coming strike and timing her counter down to the millisecond. Ma Beagle may have been old and untrained, but she was no slouch in combat. The canine may not be a martial artist, but she was a street fighter – _the _street fighter – in every sense of the term. And it was often the untrained combatants that were the most lethal fighters, for they were the unfettered ones, the pragmatic ones, the ones who would resort to any tactic to come out on top.

Indeed, an uneven swing from the beagle's crowbar caught the old duck off-guard. She managed to crouch low enough so that the metallic beam just whistled overhead. But that left her face wide open to a straight kick from the canine, however.

Reeling back from the blow, her vision spinning, all Beakley could do was focus every one of her senses on her hearing and muscle instinct. Ma Beagle had her on the ropes, outnumbered and unarmed. She'd have to dig deeper, let her spy training break through the barriers of her ancient memory and completely take over her body. She would have to let cold ruthlessness override her core. Her essence hijacked by the instinct of a killer.

She would make that sacrifice one more time. For her family.

* * *

As Beakley battled Ma Beagle, Lena led the others back in the direction towards the rear exit.

Every type of Beagle Boy came down to confront them, but Launchpad, Donald and Scrooge were still as agile as ever, despite being fatigued from the long fight.

And when a beagle slipped past their defenses, Lena came in handy with a short blast of magic.

They were all battered, and weary.

But they would not be beaten.

* * *

Beakley's instincts told her to step back to the left.

A thick whoosh of air on her right gave her an idea of how close death had sailed past her face.

She thrust her upper body backwards, just managing to limbo under a follow-up lateral swing from Ma Beagle.

Regaining her footing, Beakley jabbed out her left hand, catching the crowbar on another downwards swing. Her right hand quickly caught on, and she managed to yank the improvised weapon away from the beagle.

"Give it up, Marge," Bentina warned, flourishing the deadly tool like a sword, "You will fail, just as your father did."

"That's because he made the mistake of underestimating your family. I will not do the same."

With that, Ma Beagle sprinted into the wreck of the living room. Beakley followed, hot on her heels, and was nearly caught off guard when the mother dog swung the coffee table at her. The old duck managed to bring up the crowbar in time to defend herself. Wood splintered inches from her face, but Bentina never flinched.

The table split in two, and the beagle wildly swung the remnants of the furniture to deter the old duck from pressing her attack.

When there was enough distance between her and Beakley, Marge threw the table legs at her. While the duck was busy warding off the improvised projectiles, Marge lifted the sofa and charged head on with it at Beakley with startling swiftness.

The duck was pinned against the wall, unable to deflect the attack. The heavy impact jostled the crowbar from her hand. It thudded on the floor.

Survival instinct kicking in, Beakley used both of her legs as pistons to free herself from her sandwiched position between the upturned sofa and the wall. When she kicked the sofa back, Ma Beagle had to dive clear. The old duck took full advantage of her reprieve and retreated. She had a plan, but she would have to fall back to the garage.

Even as she withdrew through the hallways, her opponent doggedly pursued her. Beakley did everything she could to slow down Marge. Vases, lamps and portraits were hurled at the beagle, but still she continued to give chase.

Remembering a weak spot in part of the hallway's structure, Beakley grabbed a torch that extended out from one of the walls. With a burst of incredible strength, she pulled down a huge chunk of the wall. The amount of debris was enough to stall the pursuing beagle for several precious seconds.

* * *

Bursting through the back doors of the mansion, Lena led the group down the main pathway of the backyard. It led to an emergency evacuation trail that spiraled down the hill.

"We'll wait here for Mrs Beakley," said Donald, still carrying Webby and Dewey.

Lena turned back towards the mansion. All of the Beagle Family had participated in the assault. A huge number had been killed or wounded. What remained of their ranks were still lumbering around the inside of the house, either trying to look for them or assist their mother in taking down Beakley.

"Come on, Tea Time, get out of there," Lena prayed under her breath.

The young teen took out her cellphone and began to make an emergency call.

* * *

As Beakley busted back through the door that led to the garage, she grabbed an axe that was lying nearby and chopped the gas lines on the wall nearest to the doorway.

She then jumped up on top of Launchpad's parked limo, grabbing a lighter from her pocket with one hand and twirling the axe in her other to a ready position.

Ma Beagle entered through the doorway seconds later.

"Hell of a place for a last stand," the mother dog sneered.

"Even Hell is too nice of a place for the likes of you," Beakley retorted, holding up her lighter, "Goodbye, Marge."

"Wait, is that gas?" asked Ma Beagle suspiciously, suddenly sniffing an alarming scent.

Beakley's only response was to jump behind the car, ignite the lighter and toss it.

The world exploded in an inferno.

* * *

They could see the explosion from where they stood.

Lena dropped her phone. Luckily, she had already finished calling the police.

Huey gasped, barely reacting as Louie, clearly frightened, buried his face in the chest of his eldest brother.

Launchpad placed a hand on Scrooge to steady him, while Donald was the only one to verbally react.

"Beakley!"

Donald's desperate scream was what spurred Lena into action.

She started running, her shod feet feeling heavy at first but gradually getting lighter as she sprinted faster and faster.

Her body literally glowing also caught her attention, but even in her awe she didn't break her stride. This wasn't the first time that this much power coursed through her.

But what was different this time around was that her body was not glowing in the pink hue that reminded her of her Aunt's oppressive grip on her life.

No. She was glowing a vibrant and brighter blue. The light that she cast was all-encompassing, dominant like lightning, and yet as gentle as a candle in the darkness.

Without hesitation, Lena jumped into the raging blaze that used to be the garage.

"Beakley! Beakley!" she cried out, her voice crystal clear and unaffected by the smoke, thanks to her magic.

She got no response, however.

But still she continued to walk amongst the flames, unharmed, calling out for the grandmother of her best friend.

At last she spotted the wrecked and smashed hulk of the limo, with something purple pinned underneath it…

_Beakley!_

Lena moved swiftly, using her augmented strength to carefully lift the car off of Beakley's body, and roll it clear from the both of them.

Unlike last time, she couldn't just toss or throw the car around just as she had done with the train carriage. A burning house was less structurally secure than an underground subway tunnel.

Lena knelt down to check Beakley's pulse.

_Alive._

Beakley had sustained major burns, along with several broken bones – but she would live.

As the flames advanced on them, Lena grabbed the older duck's body and made the both of them intangible. It wouldn't last long, but it would be enough for her to pull Beakley clear of the house.

As she was dragging the elderly bird, Lena's eyes looked around warily for any sign of a beagle. Specifically the beagle matriarch.

No mere mortal would be crazy enough to walk into a burning building, unless they were part of the rescue services. Or a magic wielder.

So there were no beagles around to hinder their escape.

Just before they passed through the last of the flames, Lena spotted the charred remains of Ma Beagle.

There wasn't much to look at. Only a blackened face attached to a roasted upper body that lacked one of its arms. Everything from the pelvis downwards was missing.

_"Good riddance,"_ thought Lena bitterly, as she made the last few steps back out to safety and freedom.

She carefully placed Beakley down before the intangibility spell dissipated. She collapsed, her energy spent. The duckling was tempted to pass out, but the sound of heavy footsteps – too heavy to belong to any duck – kept her clinging to consciousness.

"You… you _killed_ our Ma…" a deep voice boomed.

Lena forced herself to her feet.

"And you… almost killed my family…" she rasped in fury, finding some final reserves of power deep down.

Her voice rumbled thunderously as she began to levitate in front of the remaining Beagles. They cowered back.

"I ought to kill you all right here, right now!" Lena roared, her instincts feral and her eyes glowing with righteous rage, "But that would be too easy! Just as I was given one more chance, I shall do the same for you. Leave. _Now_."

That was all that needed to be said.

Even as the last of her power faded, and she sank back to the ground, her eyes closed and her mind slipping into darkness, Lena heard the footsteps of every surviving Beagle as they fled, never looking back.

Several moments of silence passed, and the last thing Lena heard before completely blacking out was the concerned voice of an elderly Scotsman.

_"Lass…"_


	6. Recovery Road

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Duck Family recuperates after winning the fight of their lives.

**Recovery Road**

Dewey jerked awake with a gasp.

"Dewey!"

The duckling knew that voice.

"Dewey. It's alright. You're safe now," Uncle Donald said as he sidled up beside him on the hospital bed.

"Where's Webby?" Dewey asked, desperate.

"In the intensive care unit," his uncle answered as he gently placed an arm around his nephew.

"What about Louie?" Dewey pressed, remembering that his little brother had also been injured.

"He didn't need to stay in the hospital overnight. He was in a far better shape than you were," Donald told his nephew, "He's with Huey and the others in the best hotel in town."

"Hotel?" drawled Dewey, bewildered, before realizing the implications, "What happened to the mansion?"

"It kind of blew up."

"WHAT?!"

"Well, half of it did."

"So what you're saying is that after I was knocked out by the Beagles, I missed the rest of the action?" Dewey gaped, before looking down, disappointed.

He could have — should have — fought alongside his family.

He should've done a better job at protecting _them_. They shouldn't have had to shoulder the burden of defending and worrying themselves sick over his useless body.

A ragged sigh escaped the blue duckling.

"You sound unhappy," Donald remarked.

"Not unhappy," amended Dewey, "Just… ashamed and disappointed, I guess."

"There's no shame in being vulnerable and having to be protected," said Donald as he gently rubbed his nephew's back, "Families look out for each other, no matter what happens."

"Webby will pull through. She has to," Dewey said, his tone beseeching and unsure. He looked imploringly at his uncle.

"She will, right?"

"Of course," Donald smiled reassuringly.

And that was all Dewey needed to know before the need for sleep kicked in again and his eyelids slowly drooped shut as he drifted off in his uncle's arms.

* * *

In the living room of the penthouse quarters of the best hotel in Duckburg, Scrooge McDuck sat quietly in a fur-lined rocking chair, sipping a steaming cup of coffee.

The elderly duck was watching the sun peek its first rays just over the ocean horizon. Burning golden light mixed with dark, cool blue to create a shimmering and dazzling effect.

It was a pleasant and beautiful sight, but Scrooge's mind was lost in deep thought. His family had almost died last night, and though they had fought in self-defense, they had also taken the lives of many of the Beagle Family, including their matriarch.

Scrooge had no problem with killing in self-defense. It was pragmatic, sensible, sane, and it ensured that whoever was trying to fatally harm you would never get that chance again. He still mourned the loss of life, though, and he knew that the kids, as wise beyond their years as they were, were still _children _— young, impressionable children who could be traumatized and scarred by what they had done.

Before Scrooge could consider panicking over this, he heard the soft footsteps of little duckling feet on carpet.

He turned to find Huey entering the living room.

"It's a little early for younglings such as yourselves to be shambling around at these hours, isn't it?" Scrooge asked his eldest great-nephew.

"My body clock was disturbed," Huey said with a hollow tone.

"Aye, that's always a problem after incidents like yesterday," Scrooge agreed, cracking a careworn smile, "So, how are you feeling?"

"What kind of question is that?" Huey asked, his eyes aghast and his voice choked up.

"What I mean is, are you sound? Are you okay, lad?" Scrooge rephrased his question, getting more concerned by the second.

"Well, to be completely honest with you, great-uncle Scrooge, no I am not," came Huey's simple reply.

"The feeling will come to pass," the old duck consoled, his head turning to look at the city skyline, "We've been to hell and back, but we all survived. Now we are much stronger."

"Stronger? My little brothers are injured and our best friend is in a coma. How is that stronger?" Huey asked, incredulous and slightly accusing.

"The gold that survives the fire is the most purest gold of all."

"Enough with the allegations and enough with the damn money!" Huey burst out.

Scrooge was taken aback. A few moments later, so was Huey.

"Forgive me, great-uncle. I was irrational," the red-clad triplet sighed, looking down at his feet, "I… For the first time since we entered your life, I'm just… sick of all this."

"What, this?" joked Scrooge in an attempt to cheer up his great-nephew, gesturing to the luxurious hotel room around them.

"The danger and the death," Huey continued on like his uncle hadn't spoken, "I'm sick of all of that."

"I see," replied Scrooge, more than a little distraught. Ever since his extended family came back into his life, he had felt young at heart for the first time in ages. He had gone about reliving his glory days, with little care for the consequences, and now the children in his family were paying the price.

Adventuring might be a past-time that he would truly have to leave in the past, buried alongside the memory of his niece.

_"Oh Della," _he thought painfully, _"I'm so sorry I brought this on your family."_

Even if his nephew didn't hold this catastrophe against him, he could now clearly see for the first time the reason why Donald and the rest of his family had wanted nothing to do with him for 10 years.

_"I endangered everyone with the enemies that I made. I made them live my lifestyle without truly preparing them, or even just being there to support them," _Scrooge continued to brood, _"But from now on I have to do better. I will do better."_

"You know, lad," he said to Huey, who had now come to sit on his lap, "I think it's time that I give you the normal life and childhood that you and your brothers deserve."

_"For the sake of you all, my beloved family, I will be there for you from now on. Never again will you have to suffer this kind of pain," _Scrooge vowed silently as the sun rose higher and shone ever brighter, _"I promise."_

* * *

At the Duckburg Hospital emergency ward, an old and retired British spy sat in one of the intensive care unit rooms, at the bedside of her unconscious granddaughter.

Beside the two family members, a duckling of 13 years was slumped in her chair, watching the older duck keep vigil. After several hours, she had woken up in a hospital bed. The worst thing that had happened to her was exhaustion and fatigue from the overuse of her magic.

For Lena De Spell, the love between Bentina Beakley and her granddaughter was the kind of familial love that she had dreamed of having all her life. Her Aunt Magica had done away with her parents and taken her in when she was little, manipulating and lying to her to get the young duckling to do her bidding.

When she was little, Lena had trusted her aunt implicitly, and she had loved her the way that only a sad and orphaned little child could.

Oh, how her innocence and love had been used against her.

She had suffered a cruel existence living on the streets, all the time believing that she was honouring her aunt and working to restore her to her proper form. All the time believing that she was giving her all — all of her blood, sweat and tears — for a family member who loved her.

How wrong and foolish she had been.

The street life was unforgiving. Lena had done things she wasn't proud of.

Vandalizing, stealing… even killing, albeit in self-defense, but still…

She may have still been legally a child, but she sure as hell didn't act like one.

But now, she had saved lives. She had done something admirable. Achieved something worthwhile. Something she could be proud of.

And fate was now showing her a glimpse of the potential reward.

A new family to call her own…

But after everything that had happened, would they still take her in?

Webby had made a personal enemy out of Ma Beagle when she had saved her tail a couple months back.

And now Scrooge and his family knew that she was a blood relative of his worst and most wicked enemy. The niece of Magica De Spell.

But she had done so much to save them, to prove to them that she was not like her aunt. And yet…

Would they accept her as one of their own?

Or would they turn her back out onto the streets?

Lena desperately wanted to believe that they wouldn't be so harsh and unforgiving. After all, she had seen the lengths they would go to in order to protect one another.

But she wasn't part of their family. And the blood of a witch ran through her veins.

All these thoughts racing inside the young teen's head were brought to a screeching halt when Beakley coughed to get her attention.

The elderly duck had broken away from her granddaughter's bedside for now, and was sitting in the seat next to Lena. The young delinquent straightened in her seat, suddenly feeling very anxious.

"You know," Beakley began, her voice impassive and not betraying any feelings she might have had towards the wayward child at the moment, "When I first met you several months back, your initial first impression left a sour taste in my mouth."

"Heh, people always use _sour _to describe me, but personally I think _salty _is a better and more unique fit," Lena couldn't help quipping, trying to ease her nerves.

"Don't interrupt, dear," replied Beakley simply before continuing on, "You got my granddaughter into trouble and encouraged the McDuck kids to get into scrapes and hijinks."

Despite Beakley's calm tone, Lena still felt uneasy and nervous.

"But then you saved my life, and I saw you with the others as you all interacted with those Terra-Firmian younglings," Beakley continued, "You were a wayward child, yes. But I was reminded of the fact that in spite of your misguided ways, you were still a _child_. And that I was being overprotective, for that matter, but getting back to the point, a child is only as good as their parents raised them to be. After that night, it seemed to me that you were a… _lost _child, a child with parents that cared very little for them, but up until yesterday I didn't know how right I was."

Lena swallowed and looked down at her sneakers.

"Did… did your aunt ever… hurt you, dear?" the old duck asked tentatively.

"What, you mean emotionally, or physically?" Lena drawled mirthlessly, an empty smirk on her beak in a half-hearted attempt to assuage the elder's concerns.

But Beakley wasn't smiling. Her eyes held lightning within them, the look of someone who could kill.

Lena was about to give a sharp scream of fright, but then she noticed that Beakley's gaze, intense as it was, was unfocused and vacant.

The elderly duck wasn't angry at her.

"Stupid of me…" the grandmother muttered to herself, "How stupid of me…"

"If it's any consolation," Lena tried to interrupt the elder's self-loathing, "The worst thing my aunt ever did to me was keep me immobilized for a few hours."

The witch child stopped speaking, however, when she saw that Beakley had gone tenser than ever.

Beakley took a calming breath to clear her mind, before she spoke once more, with wisdom and clarity.

"You did more than enough to earn a place in our family. You didn't even need to have to come to our rescue yesterday to have earned it. You earned it the moment you saved my life in that subway, and I only wish I hadn't been blind to your problems for months."

Lena blinked at the old woman's confession.

"You deserved better, dear child. And now, the life you've been dreaming of will finally become a reality," Beakley finished, opening her arms as a formal invitation for the lost child.

Lena couldn't stop the rush of tears that pricked at the back of her eyes.

"You… you really mean it?" she whispered, afraid to believe that all of this was real. Terrified that all of this might only be a dream. That she would wake up, surrounded by darkness, and still trapped under her aunt's cruelty.

Beakley nodded silently, and that was all that Lena needed.

Unable to stop the tears from spilling down her cheeks, she threw herself into the elderly duck's embrace, cherishing for the first time in years the feelings of being safe. Of being loved.

* * *

Louie crammed into the rented people carrier that was currently being driven by none other than Launchpad himself.

The members of the Duck Family who had taken shelter at the hotel for the night were meeting up with Donald and Dewey to take them to their temporary home-away-from-home for a proper rest. After all, there was only so much comfort and entertainment to be had in a hospital room. At least the ice cream served with meals was enough to make up for the hospital's isolated and sterile atmosphere.

"So," Louie started, bringing up the elephant in the room that was to be inevitably addressed at some point, "What will happen to the surviving Beagles?"

Scrooge's gaze grew flinty.

"They'll live behind bars for 30 years before being granted the chance for parole. And that's if they're lucky," the family patriarch answered, "They are _not _hurting my family again."

"That's a good call," was all Launchpad had to comment on the matter, before they endured the rest of the trip in silence, until they finally arrived at their destination.

Donald and Dewey greeted them warmly.

"It's great to see you on your feet again," Huey grinned widely as he hugged his middle brother. Dewey hugged back with more strength than Huey had expected given his injuries, but he supposed he shouldn't have been surprised. Out of the three of them, Dewey was the strongest.

"I'm just glad I lived to see you again," Dewey sighed happily.

Overcome with relief, Louie joined the embrace, hugging his older brothers intensely, unable to stop the tears that fell from his eyes.

"We're safe now, right? It's all over?" the youngest asked, certain of the answer but still feeling an overwhelming need to make sure.

"Yes, Louie," Huey smiled back at him lovingly, "It's all over."


	7. I'm With You, Always

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We come to the happy end of our story, as well as a new beginning, as the Duck Family is once again made whole.

**I'm With You, Always**

Webby returned to the land of the living a few days later.

She awoke slowly, her senses groggy, and found an oxygen mask strapped to her beak.

Her right arm had been injected with an IV needle and cord for anaesthetic fluids to be administered to her.

Underneath the warm and thick blanket that had been draped over her battered body, she felt the dull ache of cuts and lacerations that had been stitched back together.

The young duckling decided that it would be best not to try and sit up. Instead, she scanned her surroundings with her eyes.

She was lying on a bed in a hospital room, if the visual cues of the medical apparatus hadn't given the location away, and to the right of her peripheral vision, she saw a small blue and white figure, slumped fast asleep in his chair.

"Hey…" she tried her voice, finding it raspy and sore.

Fortunately, Dewey Duck had great hearing, as well as the ability to rouse himself at the slightest noise of summoning.

The voice of his best friend penetrated the black void of his sleep, and his eyes flew open, his head snapping to attention.

"Webby!" he gasped in delight, joy flooding through every fibre of his being.

"You're a sight for sore eyes," the girl in question rasped. Dewey made his way over to her to clasp her hand.

"It's good to have you back with us," the boy said simply.

"Heh, it's great to be alive," the younger duckling teased.

"Good, now kiss!" a light voice ribbed them from off to the side.

"You know, I'm only gonna tolerate that because you're correct," Dewey shot back playfully.

With some effort, Webby carefully craned her head around Dewey's shoulder to see Lena standing in the doorway.

"Lena? You're here too? Since when?" she asked, her eyes widening.

"I was just taking a dump in the bathroom. Pretty luxurious bathroom, I might add, Pink," Lena answered, her voice almost singing and her eyes shining.

"Thanks for coming," said Webby gratefully, feeling so much better and so much less pained with the wonderful knowledge that her best friends were beside her.

"She's been here since lunchtime, keeping tabs on your condition along with me," added Dewey, "She actually came to our rescue. She helped our family fight off the Beagle Boys. Heck, she even _killed_ Ma Beagle. You should've seen her in action."

Webby felt her lower mandible drop.

"You killed Ma Beagle?" she asked, turning to Lena in awe, "How?"

"Thanks for the short stand-up intro, Bluey," Lena smiled at the blue-clad triplet before delving into the process of explaining herself to her best friend, "To tell you the truth, Webby, I'm not just an ordinary kid — though you might've picked up on that by now."

"I'll say," Webby grinned back, basking in her best friend's affection.

But what Lena said next made a shiver run down Webby's spine.

"I am actually the niece of Magica De Spell."

"Hold up! What?!"

Lena winced. "I know. It's terrifying information to take in at face value. But there's more to me than meets the eye, as your grandmother found out."

"Well," Webby began hesitantly, "We have plenty of time."

And so the two younger kids settled in to listen to Lena's story.

* * *

"So, let me get this straight," said Webby, aiming to put all of what Lena had been telling her over the past hour into perspective, "Your crazy abusive aunt murdered your parents when you were 3. Then she spent the next 10 years raising you to carry out her revenge on the McDuck Clan. And then you met me and decided that that kind of life wasn't worth it, and so you decided to help us against the Beagles?"

"That's more or less on point," replied Lena, shifting uncomfortably from her cross-legged position on the bed. The bed was large enough to carry all three children with enough breathing room for all of them. All Lena had to do was take her sneakers off before joining the two younger ducklings.

"So… why me?" Webby asked at last, "What did you see in me that made you want to give up your own family for ours?"

"My aunt," Lena began, before correcting herself, "Magica."

The young teen took in a shuddering breath before continuing.

"_Magica _was _never _my family. She killed the only people who loved me, and took advantage of my naivety and the love and trust that I gave her. There are no other De Spell clan members. We are…"

She corrected herself again. She had gotten rid of her aunt before she had finally decided to join the McDuck-Duck Family for good.

"We _were _the last of the De Spell lineage. Now she's gone, and thanks to your grandmother, I am a De Spell no longer."

"And… the question still remains — what did you see in me?" persisted Webby. She could accept and buy the horrible childhood that her friend had suffered through for a decade. But Lena's initial intentions when she had first met her had now been made clear — she was just to be used as a means for the older girl to get closer to the McDuck Family.

"I saw… I _see_… I see a wonderful and beautiful and talented little sister that I never got to have," Lena spoke slowly, earnestly, "She's brave, and smart, and she's kind to everyone she meets. She respects everyone, even if they don't deserve it. She's amazing, and she has an amazing family of her own."

"My family's not amazing," Webby sighed sadly, "My grandmother couldn't tell that you were a troubled and abused kid, and I got trashed and beaten by some uncultured dogs. We're not that amazing."

Webby said _we_, in reference to herself and her grandmother, but Dewey and Lena knew her well enough that she was solely referring to herself.

Boy, that beating must have really done a number on her.

"Webby," Dewey began, clasping her hands in his once more, "You were willing to sacrifice your life to protect me and my brothers. I'll be gosh-darned incredulous if anyone, yourself included, thinks that's not amazing."

"No one would've lasted against them as long as you did," Lena added, smiling tenderly, and encouragingly, "You're braver than you believe, stronger than you seem, and smarter than you think. Your grandmother is very proud of you. I know so."

Webby was crying now, but the tears were happy ones, as evidenced by the small smile on her beak.

"Speaking of which, we'd better tell everyone else that you're awake," said Dewey, changing the subject to a more jubilant one, "They've gone out for some afternoon snacks, but Lena here can give them a ring."

"Already on it, Blue," the girl in question replied with a smirk as she typed away on the screen of her cellphone.

* * *

The long-awaited reunion was triumphant and sweet.

Huey and Louie gathered around Webby's bed, joined by Lena and Dewey.

"You can take it easy now," Huey lightly joked, gallows humour at its finest.

"I will," Webby laughed, "I think this incident taught me what it meant to take it easy."

"Please don't do something like that again," Louie pleaded earnestly, "This family wouldn't be the same without you."

"I'll try," replied Webby, "But no promises. No one touches my family without getting through me first."

The able-bodied kids gave way so that Beakley could approach next. She leaned in close to her granddaughter, so that the words that would be shared between them could be shared in their own private intimacy.

"You've done me proud, my dear. And you've done your parents proud," the grandmother spoke softly, and lovingly.

"Thank you, Granny," said Webby blissfully, though there was a hint of wistfulness in her voice at the memory of her deceased parents.

_"Mom. Dad," _she thought silently, her heart offering up a prayer of thanksgiving, _"Wherever you are, thanks for watching over me. I love you."_

* * *

As Donald watched Scrooge approach Webby next, his gaze turned to the setting sun outside the hospital window.

Though the light of day was dying, the sailor could see the stars coming out.

He glanced back at his family, his huge and mixed and extended family, and came to the conclusion that the dark times really were over.

The boys weren't sheltered anymore, and they had found a new friend in Webby — Dewey might have even found something more in her, but Donald would just have to wait and see if those feelings in his nephew would come to pass.

His Uncle Scrooge was happy again, and was becoming more charitable and wiser with each day. Beakley too had loosened up, and she had come to view Donald and the boys as if they were the offspring of her own blood as well.

Then there was Lena, the last of the De Spell Clan, and their newest addition to the family. She could live freely now, with people who cared for her and could be there for her. She could finally be happy and safe. No longer would she be tortured and abused — her new family had given her freedom. And love.

That just left him, and the last of his demons to get rid of.

Glancing back at the window, he saw three bright stars high above the city, shining brighter than all the rest.

His parents.

And his older sister.

_Mom, Dad… I love you._

_And Della… how can I say this? You left me and the boys with huge, gaping holes in our hearts._

_But you also saved us, and you taught our old miser of an uncle how to sacrifice and love again._

_Your boys are so much like you, they're brave and strong, and I hope you're proud of what they've accomplished._

_I'm sorry for the times when I've failed them, and I thank you for giving me the strength and the courage to be a father to them. The father that they need._

_And finally, thank you for protecting them, and watching over them._

_Not even death can stop you, big sis._

_Until we meet again, goodbye for now._

His final farewells concluded, Donald turned back to join his family, ready to face this new age, and this new world.

Together.

* * *

**THE END**


End file.
